


Flight 2

by txteclipse



Series: Flight [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Roller Coaster, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Sad with a Happy Ending, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txteclipse/pseuds/txteclipse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to Flight. William copes with Abigail's death. Very soft T rating, mostly due to difficult themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight 2

**Flight 2**

"Though telling one forwards might."

***

The big latios hovered in the doorway, red-rimmed eyes crawling their way up to meet William’s. “Will,” he said, his throaty voice tumbling its way around tears choked down long enough for one social interaction. The absence of his usual hearty laugh echoed in William’s ears.

“Hi Gideon,” Will began. “I brought food.” He held up a plastic bag with a smiley face and the words “Have a Nice Day!” emblazoned across it in red. “It’s pot roast and mashed potatoes.”

“Oh Arceus,” Abigail’s dad said. “If it had been more lasagna I might have actually bitten you.”

***

William sat on a pile of cushions across the table from Gideon. Naomi, Gideon’s wife and Abigail’s mom, floated next to Will. As the three of them talked and ate, she absently fidgeted with his hair, as though she could get at some ethereal residue of Abby’s through osmosis. They picked at the roast and the potatoes, intermittently laughing and crying and laughing while crying and crying while laughing. It was a very soggy evening of emotions that refused to be compartmentalized.

When expressions began to average sadder and Gideon and Naomi’s responses grew more clipped, William took the hint without offense. As he was pulling on his jacket, Naomi came over to him and offered the leftovers: as she was holding out the bag, she burst into fresh tears. “Sorry,” she said around her sobbing. “I just remembered sending her off to school.”

***

Night was not a long, hollow dark. It was a blessing of exhausted sleep bookended by intense crying.

The long, hollow dark occurred during the day. William flip-flopped between delivering mail by hand in order distract himself with conversation and scurrying down sidewalks, head bowed and tears hidden, inserting letters into mailboxes with practiced mechanism. Sometimes the modes would intersect, and he would find himself in the kitchen of a total stranger with tears running down his face, being served tea and sympathy he had no stomach for. Or he would be placing a bundle of droplet-spattered letters into a mailbox and he would suddenly remember being there six months before, hanging upside-down from Abby's back and handing a package to a whooping six-year-old. Then he would grin with muscles that hurt from grief and the salty trails on his face would feel tight, as though trying to keep his skin a mask, but he would grin regardless.

***

William didn’t buy into the six stages of grief. He had no doubts she was dead, thank you very much, and anger, depression, and cold, empty acceptance took up residence together in his gut like the world’s worst sitcom. He once stared into his fridge, filled with lasagna and salad and soup brought by well-wishers, for a full hour. Then he went out and asked around his apartment complex if anyone wanted some food because he definitely wasn’t going to eat it and there was no sense wasting it. The resulting interactions were a variation on one of the following:

  1. Statement: “I’m so sorry for your loss.”  
Answer: “Thank you.”  
Real answer: “Let’s see...that’s ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ number three hundred and two.”
  2. Question: “How are you holding up?”  
Answer: “Okay.”  
Real answer: “Seriously?”
  3. Question: “Do you need anything?”  
Answer: “No, thanks.”  
Real answer: “Abby.”



Finally William went back to his apartment, slept for three hours in the afternoon, got up, tossed all of the food in the dumpster, then slept until noon the next day.

***

“Hey, small world!”

Will looked up from the mustard bottles he was comparing to find the pilot from That Night. “Oh, hello,” he said with a lopsided grin. Then he stood there, a mustard bottle in each hand, silently cursing his beard stubble, oily hair, and wrinkly, unwashed clothes for not saying “go away” loud enough.

The pilot walked over. “I go for this stuff, personally,” he said, pointing at a bottle on the shelf. “It costs more for the bottle but the per-ounce value is better. Bit more spicy, too.” He grabbed the bottle. “Might as well while I’m here.” He grinned, white teeth flashing below a prominent nose and Aviators-shielded eyes.

 _Who wears sunglasses inside?_ Will thought. “Um,” he said.

“You miss her?”

Long silence.

“Yeah.” The pilot dropped the mustard into the hand basket he was carrying. Then he fumbled with a fine silver chain that disappeared down the front of his collar, fished out a collapsed pokéball dangling from the end. “I lost Marie ten years, four months, and sixteen days ago,” he said. “Didn’t tell you at the time because I thought it might be too close. I’ve been kicking myself ever since.” He let the pokéball drop back into his shirt. “It never really stops hurting, does it?”

William gave a tiny shake of his head.

“Hmm.” The pilot rubbed his jaw. “That was a beautiful thing you did. I was up in the cockpit bawling my eyes out.” He laughed as William’s eyes went wide. “Good autopilot, heh. Anyway, I’m glad I found you. Me and a couple of the other guys started a little fund to take people and pokémon up when it’s their time. And, well, it got pretty popular.” The pilot’s eyes twinkled as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He tapped the screen a few times and then held it out for William to see.

There was a small plane on the screen, sleek profile gleaming red and white. “The airfield found out what was going on,” the pilot was saying as Will took the phone in his hands. “They gave us the plane and free fueling privileges.” William looked up with blurred vision into the pilot’s grinning features. “You wouldn’t believe how much it means to them. How much it meant to her.”

William sat down in the middle of the grocery aisle.

“You were a good friend, kid. I hope you realize that.” The pilot clutched at the pokéball beneath his shirt. Then he leaned down and extended a hand. “Now. How about we go up there and say hi?”


End file.
